FanFiction Ruined My Life
by BG Sparrow
Summary: After getting rejected by my college to enter the only major I really wanted to do, I start to blame my obsession with Pirates for why I was too distracted to do my best. Jack & Co. don't take it lightly when I tell them I want to stop writing, however...
1. FanFiction Ruined My Life

Last Night at around 8:20 PM EST, I had the severe misfortune of finally getting the results of my Music Education Major Audition - Negative. Since then, I've been in a state of anger and disappointment because I'm not in my right mind, and I don't mean anything I say, but I'm just upset with myself. So, looking for something to blame all this on, Pirates was on TV and I couldn't beleive how much of it seemed lost to me. Basically, a little rant on my part about how I need to stop letting this movie rule over my life, but Jack and the others would object, as they always do in my life... Of course Pirates are not to blame for this. Just something that came to mind earlier. Hope you enjoy this and take something from it!!

**. . x x x . .**  
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FANFICTION RUINED MY LIFE**

It's so funny how you can feel yourself grow up, become an adult, and loose all innocence in the wake of a few words printed on a sheet of paper.

_'We regret to inform you that your performance audition for the music department was inadequate…'_

It was with those words that it happened to me. I felt anguish take me over as my parents quietly handed me the opened envelope and avoided my eyes, but reading the words was what did it. For my first whole semester in college, I had done nothing but prepared my music for an audition that would open up the world of being a Music Education major to me, and it proved in vain. I mean, I don't have a superb singing voice, and yes, I have self-confidence issues, but I think I can blame my will to just expect a lucky break or extraordinary thing to happen to me day in and day out.

I have expected to be whisked off my feet into an outlandish 'adventure' thanks to my favorite role model of over three years – Captain Jack Sparrow.

That movie honestly shaped who I am today. I associate Pirates with everything, try to tie them to everything, surround myself with Pirates everything… and with it came the will to imagine something so much stronger. The urge came to elongate everything and imagine myself off on adventures in this land dreamed up by a group of ingenious writers. I put my own exciting adventures of swashbuckling with friends and pirates to paper and became a fanfiction writer. That I am until this very day when I received this letter.

And it is this I blame my failure on. Well, it is really myself of course. I indulged in writing down these fantasies so that they could be all the more real, so I could revisit my utopia I dizzily daydreamed about constantly, and I followed my own endeavor too far. I am still stuck in a world of harsh and unforgiving reality no matter what words I put on the paper to change it, and those are the facts. My obsession with a mere _movie_ as rendered me totally unprepared and protected me from a world I believed I could avoid until I was ready o face it, and then I would cope with it bravely and exactly, just as I would when sword fighting side-by-side with Jack, Will, Elizabeth, and my best friends in my stories. But no, sadly; reality kicked my fanfictitious ass from behind, and I wasn't brave or ready or exact – I was devastated.

I know what I have to do now. I mean, it's obvious I don't have a life-threatening ailment that could take me out soon and spare me. I have future ahead of me regardless, and the thing I wanted most to do with it is now no longer an option. No more music theory, class voice, chorus, pianos… I can't cope without them! I want to keep doing it because it is what I love most! Still, I have always been rather good at English, and seeing as I have been writing fanfiction three and a half years now, since the fateful Saturday night March 22, 2003 that I first watched Jack team up with Will, save Elizabeth, get stabbed by Barbossa (I still openly gasp at that part), and triumph with the return of his ship. Yes, English is an option, but I'd want to write screenplays, not teach eternally!

So, theater would be my other option. I have been so involved with my high school musicals and plays that my school year revolved around it. I was Head Student Stage Manager of my senior high school musical, so production might be a choice I could go with. I'm still not far from my music, and I might even get to write some scripts, seeing as it's theater and all. That would be nice. But still, not as fulfilling as hearing a choir sing a heavenly unexpected chord in a song. I will miss that most of all.

What's done is done they say, and I know there is no changing the way that Captain Jack Sparrow grabbed hold of me when I was a young fifteen and dominated everything in my adolescent years beyond clothing, merchandise, and the cardboard cutout of Jack that stands at the foot of my bed to protect me in my sleep. Pirates became my obsession and me life, and it was only a clever movie with pretty faces! Fiction! Not real! Yet on my paper and in my head it was all real, and that reality mixed with mine and interfered so much that I am now a miserable mess, praying for something even more unfortunate to happen to me so I can turn my attention to it instead of this mess.

These feelings actually surfaced about an hour after I read the letter. I was sitting in the living room with my mom silently as she flicked through channels, and Pirates was on USA. Pirates makes everything better in my book, but for some reason, as I sat and watched this movie after being burned out of three straight weeks at college and reading my letter of rejection, it wasn't doing it for me. Jack's swagger just made me dizzy, the sword fighting was two dimensional, and the film looked old. So old. I couldn't place it, but I can now. It's just not the same comfort and excitement as before, and it hits me like a tons of bricks at how blind I was to let a _movie_ elicit me so. For God's sake! Huzzah, rum, Old English, and other phrases from the movie are incoorperated into my everyday vocabulary! I've listened to the soundtracks endlessly, and even as I write this rant, I'm listening to 'Jack Sparrow' simply because I can't get over my own thoughts…

Thoughts that I need to leave this behind me and grow up.

In the back of my head, I can hear Peter Pan saying from a distant childhood memory, 'Grow up? Why would you want to do that?'

Well, Peter, college isn't exactly Neverland, so it's happening. My obsession mat never leave me, but I have to stop writing these ridiculous fantasies and stop believing in them so much! Do you have any idea how big of an impact both that movie and that letter have had on me?! HUGE. But, the letter (the sharp stab of reality telling me to get my act together or be a failure for the rest of my life) is what's important. I have to be realistic now. Life is only about dreaming up adventures with pirates and friends oyu hardly recognize anymore to a certain extent. Priorities change. Fanfiction use to be number one, and now, selfishly, it's me. _I_ have to look out for my _future_. God has decided I have one, so I have to make something of it, and I can't do it in a fantasy world. Sorry.

"Oh sure."

I look up over the edge of my laptop at Jack with a level face.

"Oh sure _what_?" I ask moodily.

"Tell _them_ you're sorry," he says with a tone of disappointment and anger, sauntering over and leaning against my dresser. He uncorks his rum forcefully and downs a few large gulps. I roll my eyes.

"Yeah, you know, I'm sorry, Jack," I say testily, leaning back into my pile of pillows, "but I can't just keep going on these ramped… 'adventures' with you, everyone else, and their brother."

"Will doesn't have a brother…"

"Jack-"

"_I_ don't have a brother…"

"Psh, and how do I know that?" I ask , snapping my laptop shut and standing up. "We only found out in the last movie that your dad's alive and your mother's been reduced to a shrunken head… No mention of siblings, save in countless fanfiction stories…"

"Didn't you write about me having a sister once?" he asks curiously.

"Shut up!" I wheel around at him with big eyes. "It doesn't matter! You don't even exist! None of this Pirate shit exists!" I pick up my talking Cotton's Parrot that Lindsay got me for my birthday this passed year and threw it at him. He caught it less than gracefully as I shout, "Not Cotton's parrot!"

"Sure he does. Look!" The toy is suddenly a real macaw resting on Jack's forearm as I stand up on my bed and being to take the posters down.

"These pictures of you don't exist!"

_RIIIIIIP_

"If they weren't real, could you rip them?" he asks uncertainly as the pieces of the glossy posters fall at his feet. Mr. Cotton's parrot screeches. I take the Dead Man's Chest Key and Cursed Aztec Medallion hanging next to the posters and throw them at him.

"Not these!"

"Ow!" Then, Jack gets a better look at the medallion. His eyes go wide with fear. "Where did you get that?!"

I throw my stuffed monkey from the fourth grade trip to the science center at him as I jump off my bed.

"Not Jack the Monkey!"

Another screech. Jack strokes the monkey on his shoulder as it becomes real.

"I really beg to differ on that as well, darling…"

"Well you know what?!" I say, fuming at this point. I rip down my Dead Man's Chest calendar and tear it, throwing the pieces onto the pile of destroyed posters. Then, I reach under my bed for the three large plastic boxes of endless writing I have from the ideas I've hoarded away and dumb their contents of notebooks and papers into the pile, accumulating it significantly. My tiny stuffed Jack Sparrow from McDonald's that sits in my pencil can joins the pile in rage, and to top it off, the DVDs and their cases. I open my nightstand drawer angrily next, and then I catch sight of a bright green lighter and pull it out along with a stick of incense. As I stand there lighting it, Jack is quite unnerved.

"Building a pyre isn't the answer, luv."

"Oh shut up," I say impatiently. "It worked in 1408."

"This isn't just another movie-"

"UGGHHHH! I KNOW!!! IT'S AN OBSESSION THAT RUINED MY LIFE!!!"

"There's a lot missing from this pile," he points out. "Like the sheet music and the nine shirts, the costumes, the other poster, Tia Dalma's – or rather Calypso's – locket, the blanket, the pants, those two patches on your zip up sweatshirts, your school projects involving me…"

Jack the Monkey screeches again from Jack's shoulder. Cotton's parrot goes on about wind in the sails.

"Don't you worry," I say fiercely. "When I go back to my dorm on Sunday night, I'll invite all of myself to a special bonfire in the Square."

"Amazing how your lighter isn't working," he says, glancing at my hand. I look at it, seeing that all the lighter fluid is gone. Okay, now I'm totally pissed. Infuriated beyond belief, I throw the lighter and incense stick onto the pile causing Jack to jump a little.

"What's the incense for?"

"So I can't smell the horrible smell of imaginary flesh burning," I say before turning and whipping open my bedroom door to go out into the dark basement in search of matches. Jack looks taken aback at the comment, and I leave, very ready to get this done and over with no matter how much it may hurt. I can't keep letting an imaginary world rule over my free time and entire existence when I could've been practicing long and hard for my audition so I could be a music teacher!!!! RAAAAAA!!!!

However, after only a few steps on the carpet, it begins to feel thin under it totally vanishes and is replaced with old, wet, loose, moldy wooden boards. I stop walking and acquire a very level look of disgruntled anger seething beneath the surface of my skin. This is ridiculous, and to prove it to myself, I keep walking towards the door creaked open at the end of the hall. I hear the ocean but choose to no longer acknowledge it. I smell the salty air but think nothing of it. I hear shouts of familiar voices that played over and over on my television and in my head for years, but I just bite my tongue before I totally lose it. When I reach the door, I don't slow down; I march right through it, allowing it to slam off the wall as I stride onto the deck of the Black Pearl infuriated.

"Jack, stop it," I say, stopping directly in front of him as he pockets his telescope.

"Stop what?" he asks innocently sarcastic. "You're the one 'dreaming up' this bloody world, remember? _You_ stop."

"You're being immature."

"And you're being unreasonable."

"I am not! I'm not giving into these stupid fantasies anymore so I can live a normal life and I'm unreasonable?!" He pulls out an apple and bites into it as I continue my rant. "Well guess what, _Captain_?! Even if I _were_ being unreasonable, I'm allowed! Because my life just got totally screwed up, nothing is going my way, I am PMSing, and I will rip your face right out of my memory FOREVER!!!"

I snatch the apple from him and pitch it over the side of the ship as he looks at me blankly, trying to register what just happened.

"You tossed my fruit…"

"Listen," I say crossly, pointing at him, "It has to end now. I can't keep running off in my head everytime I'm faced with a problem I don't want to deal with because as proven, it'll get me nowhere in a future that is not just going to be handed to me! I can't write fanfiction for a living, Jack!"

"And why not?" he asks. "Oh, that's right: against copyright laws."

"Yes. So I'm leaving and that's it," I decide. "I am burying-"

"Burying?" His tone is sly. I shut my eyes impatiently.

"_Burning-_"

"Burning? Why burn?" he asks humorously. "Burying is so typically pirate of you…"

"THAT'S WHY I'M NOT _BURYING_ THEM, JACK!!!"

"Burying what?" the scruffy version of Norrington asks as he walks by. I feel my temper flare instantly as Jack whispers to him.

"She's giving up on us for good 'cause we aren't real and can't be her future."

Norrington gives Jack a confused expression, glancing at me as if I were demented. "Not _real_?"

"That's what I said..."

"Okay, guys, that's enough!" I shout. 'Do you have any idea how important it was for me to make that audition? Do you have _any _idea at all?!"

Norrington looked at the deck. "No…"

"Only if you write us to…" Jack says sheepishly.

"NO! You guys… STOP!!!"

I turn back around to head inside the Captain's Cabin when the doors fly open and Pintel and Ragetti stumble out. I give them a glare like none other, and they smile nervously as they move out of my way.

"Morning, Miss!"

"It's NIGHTTIME, Ragetti!" I yell.

He and Pintel look up at the sun beating down on them. I feel a scream curling in my toes when I hear Pintel grumble to his counterpart, "But the sun is at high noon…"

Oh, I can't take it. I just can't take it! I'm not brave or stupid enough to kill myself, and I'm never going to be involved with music again, so-

The floorboards turn to stable carpet again, but this is not the thick brown carpet I am used to feeling beneath my toes in my basement. A sense of curiosity captures me a second as I slow to try and figure out what it is, but I recognize it in no time. My step picks up as I come to the top landing of the staircase in the Governor's Mansion. Below in the lobby I see Will, Governor Swann, and Lord Beckett watching me come down the stairs. I press my lips together firmly and storm over to them authoritatively.

"Gentlemen, the gig is up," I announce. "You won't be hearing from me anymore."

"Don't be a prude," Beckett says, stirring his tea slowly. I open my mouth to retort, but then my eyes narrow.

"You just called me a prude?"

"Yes, isn't that what you typed?" he says airily, glancing up at me over the rim of his tea cup. "You type it and we say it? Unless you have misinformed us of a change."

I cry out in frustration. "Not anymore!! God, what do I have to do to get through to you that this is it?! It was fun while it lasted, but it's not real to me anymore. Music was more important to me than anything, and I lost it because I was hanging out with the wrong people!"

"That's not too nice to say about Lindsay," Will says. "I thought she was your best friend?"

"NO!!! I meant _YOU GUYS!!!_"

"Oh, surely you don't mean it," Governor Swann chuckles with his arms folded neatly behind his back. I stare angrily at the feather on his hat having a strong urge to rip it to shreds any second.

"Yes, I'm afraid I do," I state rather calmly. "I just thought I should let my readers know before I jumped ship-"

"Jumped _ship?_"

I close my eyes at Jack's knowing leer (for he is suddenly in the room with us). I HAVE to stop using pirate lingo…

"Before I abandoned-"

"-_ship_?"

A dangerous look as my hands turn in to fists at my sides. "My stories."

"Face it, luv," Jack says, parting Will and the Governor. "We aren't going anywhere. We're real because you made us this way-"

I hold up my hand. "Save it for when you're Mort Rainey," I say boredly. I turn to Beckett. He raises an eyebrow. "I just wanted to say that I regret not having written a story with the two of us in it," I tell him. "You're perfectly evil and it would've been great to have our names in the same conversation on paper."

"But you're not evil," he states blandly in all his Becketty goodness.

"I know," I shrug, "but I can be when I want to." I glare over at Jack. "Like _now…_"

Jack looks around uncomfortably.

Okay, really, this is enough.

I part Governor Swann and Beckett with my shoulder to head outside into the night air, bumping Beckett hard enough to spill hit hot tea all over himself. He shrieks loudly as I go outside, finding myself on a bridge. Again, a recognizable bridge. I sigh and look over the rail, and as if on cue, Elizabeth and Barbossa are rowing towards me in a small Chinese watercraft what's name escapes me. Elizabeth smiles up at me from under that giant hat as she rows with the long rod. I shake my head at them.

"Not writing anymore. Sorry."

Her face contorts along with Barbossa's as the pass under the bridge.

"What?"

"But why?"

I go over to the other side of the bridge and shrug again.

"Sorry. Deal with it."

As I turn around, I come face to face with Tia Dalma who does not look happy either. I just sigh. Yet again.

"You are a coward," she says with a stone face.

"Yeah, I get that," I say sarcastically. "I'm usually a coward because I choose to ignore my real life and dwell in this place with you people, but that's ending. I'm not going to be a coward anymore because I'm leaving for good. See how easily it's remedied?"

"Running from your destiny is not the answer."

"But severing all ties with this stupid obsession so that I ccan work out what to do with what's left of my life is the answer," I explain to her short and simply.

"No it's-"

"Well it's good enough for me!" I shout, moving passed her on the bridge towards the rows of Chinese shops. I walk along side them idly, still thinking about how immaturely foolish I have been wasting my time obsessing over something as stupid as a movie while all of my other peers had actually hobbies that helped their future careers… what the hell does Pirates do me any good when it comes to musicality?!

"Are you done ranting and raving yet?" Jack asks me from one of the stands. I keep walking, staring at the ground.

"Yes," I answered monotone. "I've made it quite clear that I'm through with you lot."

Shadows fall over the dirt path, and I look up as a coconut comes hurtling down from a palm tree. I stare at the palm trees with so much anger sinking in my-

"_Sinking_?"

I look over at Jack. "_Weighing_, then."

"Weighing what? _Anchor_?"

"Would you cut it out?! Some words from three hundred years ago are still used today, and it's mostly because of you and this movie bringing them back to spoil the minds of our youth… _I'm_ a prime example."

"Well then fine," Jack says. "Before you go, you should have a go at writing one last regalement, aye?"

"No. No more," I reply in exhaustion as we go out to the beach. I sit down in the sand miserably, and Jack sits down beside me. The Flying Dutchman is anchored offshore, and I stare at it with pure hatred. I hear shouting coming from it and hold out my hand to Jack.

"Telescope."

He hands it over, and I look out at the ship. Davy Jones and Bootstrap Bill are giving me incredulous looks of anger like they want to beat me, quarter me, and keelhaul me. I lower the spyglass.

"SORRY!!" I bellow with a smile. "NO MORE!!"

Jack looks over at me after taking a swig of rum. "Alright so before you leave us 'forever,' if I may use the term loosely…"

"You can't," I quickly assure him with a nod. "Don't use it loosely."

He lifts his eyebrows as he looks away. "Okaaay… Well, before you leave then, are you going to miss us?"

I look out at the sunset with a pained expression. "Jack, of course I'm going to miss you. It's not like I'm never going to sit down and watch the movies again…"

"I believe they're in a pyre in the middle of your bedroom-"

"It's _NOT_," I say loudly to override his comment, "like I'm totally cutting myself off. I just need to stop spending so much time here and be a little more serious about my life and what I'm doing with it. You've all be a part of it for almost four years, and you will be forever," I tell him. "I just have to get organized and repriortize for a while."

"So you might come back?" he said hopefully.

I look back and scale my anger. Was I going ov-

"_Overboard_?"

I look over at Jack, nostrils flared at his – yet again – knowing smile. I can't stay made at him. But I have to for now. Have to.

No, it's not working.

I nudge him in the arm as a smile cracks through and I look away. Jack laughs triumphantly.

"Ha HA! See? I am real…"

"Yes," I admit, "because you're such a part of me. Literally, I refer to the last three years of my life as my Golden Age of Pirates."

"Shouldn't is be Piracy?" he asks, confused.

"No," I say. "I've been pirating music longer than _that_. Haven't paid for one song on my iPod yet, including all of your soundtrack music. Third one is my favorite."

"Anything in the works as we speak?" Norrington asks as he sits down on the other side of me. I sigh out to the horizon.

"Yeaaah… I actually have one about oyu stuck in an elevator with someone, I've got Principles of Compromise-"

"I like that one," Jack interrupts with a snigger over at Norrington. "I get Lizzie."

Norrington makes a face at him. I continue talking. "I have one where I totally rewrite the whole triology where Will has a sister torn between the two of you-"

"Whoa! Who's she end up with?" Jack asks.

"You."

"I'll drink to that."

"But she constantly has a thing for James and struggles."

Jack spits out his drink.

"Let's see… I have the third Ronie and Val story in a notebook that needs written out even though the sequel wasn't as popular as the first, and I have this one with you and Elizabeth," – I nudge Norrington – "highlighting moments between you guys on each of her birthdays from the day you met until the events of the movie-"

"How's that coming?" Norrington asks.

"Almost done with the first one, but the others are planned out," I say, somewhat disappointed in myself. "I have another where these girls win a contest to be with the actors the night of the Dead Man's Chest premiere but it turns out to be you guys instead, I still have Unprecedented Youth to continue by popular demand and this one idea where you all work in an office and Norrington falls for his assistant-"

"Bloody hell woman, what are you doing all the writing about him for?" Jack asks.

"Does it matter?" I ask moodily. "I'm giving it up for a while. Don't be jealous because every other fanfic writer went on a Norrington tangent after he heroically died in the third movie…"

Norrington takes his turn smirking at Jack. I finally break the sound of the ocean on the beach with a pure laugh, throwing an arm over each of their shoulders.

"What would I do without you guys?" I say, closing my eyes as I lean my head on Norrington's shoulder.

"I guess you're about to find out since you're _leaving _us…" Jack says sarcastically.

"_Forever_…" Norrington adds.

"Not to use the term _loosely_…"

I lift my head up and open my eyes, and I start in place. My eyes grow a little wide as I look around my own empty bedroom, laptop slanted off my legs a little. The letter of reject, deepest spirit crushing, and negative self-worth values is over on the empty nightstand still. I sigh, looking up at my Jack cardboard cutout.

I have to this up for a while. Only a while. It's my worst enemy and best friend right now. I can't run and hide the pirate in me forever and I know it, but for now, I have to keep that part of me tucked away until I figure out my life and where it's going, whether it'd still be music, theater, or English.

I mean, you never know…

The Jack Sparrow Rap might be on stage one day.

**. Please Review .**


	2. FanFiction Saved My Life

Hey everyone! I'd like to thank you all for the outstanding response to _FanFiction Ruined My Life_. It was really great and uplifting to hear your concerns for me, but as I have assured most of you, I've been doing okay. This one-shot below is a one year follow-up to the event of me receiving the rejection letter and how I'm moving on. So please, read on. :-)

**. . x x x . .**

**FANFICTION SAVED MY LIFE**

And so, it has been fourteen months.

Fourteen months ago today, I was hit with the biggest blow of reality of my life – I was rejected from the music department at my college in hopes of being a Music Educator. I cried, I panicked; I would've done anything to make music a permanent part of my life, but apparently having a choir voice that blends well is a disadvantage in a soloist's audition.

I was letting so many people down. My chorus teacher, who is like a second father to me, was upset at my rejection probably more than I was. He even emailed my college choir director, and the two had a common opinion which was reassuring. My parents pushed me to try again, keep trying, but I saw no real point in reaching for a major I couldn't get for years and extending the time I would spend in school. My musician friends expressed false sympathy, only because they were on the good end of the competition that was actually blessed with acceptance.

Just… don't get me wrong. I fell into a state of 'Oh my God, what am I going to do with my life now?' after this happened, but then, I started to make some interesting observations.

I didn't really want to do it. Not because of the audition; really. Before that, the pressure was hard to handle from all those true hopefuls and the doubters, but it was at least worth a shot. Sure, I messed up on an entrance to one of the verses in my English piece and came in two bars too early, but, as I left that audition room on the third floor of Cogswell Hall, part of me actually _wanted_ to be rejected. For the life of me I didn't know why. I disregarded it, just thinking it as part of all the jumbled negative thoughts running through my head at the time, but if I am being truly honest, I am glad that it happened. I felt like I had more confidence elsewhere, even if I didn't know where 'elsewhere' was then. It suddenly felt confining.

So, about a week later, I switched my major to English Education, where I could still teach, but in a field I had a significant better track record in.

Though, two weeks later, it hit me that I didn't want to spend thirty-five years of my life in one classroom. That was the confining part. I wanted to do more, have a bigger field open to me with possibilities beyond lesson plans and attendance sheets. I wanted to do something with writing. I have always written when I've had free time (or, I'd just not do homework and write instead) since a young age. Though I still lack confidence in my own writing, I have a great feeling that it's a better option that music. I feel that it completes me, and although those who had hoped I'd be a music educator support me, they still ask why I don't try again for music.

Well, it's not like I hate music now. I own over sixty soundtracks and a week's worth of music on my iTunes and I don't know how many CDs, so I will never forget my experiences with music. Though, it is hard to wear my high school ring and look at all the music symbols on it, promising a future at which I did not succeed to fulfill. I only wear it to make my mom happy anymore.

And yeah. That's how things have been. I'm finally taking a creative writing course and learning a lot of cool writing exercises, and I'm thinking about declaring a minor in Communications Media so I can get a career with a television studio or movie crew. Having an English major is incredibly expansive in the career field, so I'm really excited about all the options I have laid before me. If one doesn't work, I can do the other. If all my plans are screwed, I'll open a bakery someday. But as of now, I plan to do something really cool with my life, hopefully writing or editing of some sort.

Oh, and next semester, I get to take a class on analyzing Harry Potter! Who has done that?! I was one of sixteen students selected, and I get to be sorted on the first day, and I have to bring a cloak and my choice of an owl, cat, rat, or toad. Random, awesome stuff like this is one of the any reasons I love majoring in English.

"And I wouldn't be doing this had it not been for the very thing I blamed my failure at music on," I announce from the top bunk in my dorm room to my ever-loyal friends looking up at me. "Pirates."

"So… now we're you're _friends_?" Beckett asks with an arched brow. "A year ago you abandoned us and claimed that we had ruined your life."

My shoulders fall flat. "Well, I told you I didn't mean it. I was really angry. Besides, it had been my fault-"

"Yes, but look at where you are now!" Jack says, climbing up onto the bunk and putting a jovial arm around my shoulders. "She's apologized and now she's beside herself with enthusiasm about her future. That would still include us, right?"

"Right! Granted, I'm still not writing a lot of fan fiction anymore, but you guys… If it weren't for all the crazy stories I constantly wrote about you, I'd've never really gained potential in the field, I suppose."

I shut my eyes smiling happily. I feel Jack lean into me, and I sigh.

"It's not _Pirates_ that have ruined my life," I say, opening my eyes on a wide stretch of ocean sparkling in the rich colors of the sunset. I inhale deeply, the salt-drenched air a savory release from my musty dorm room. Jack sits beside me on a barrel top staring at the sinking sun as the black sails wave calmly in the breeze. I smile, too. "You all saved me, you realize that? You kept me from making a huge mistake."

"There are still mistakes to be had," Jack says, removing his arm from me so he can have another swig at his rum. I stand, walking up the deck with nod.

"I've already made lots of mistakes, but that doesn't pardon me."

Norrington walks up beside me in the pompous suit and hat. I give him a look as I slip my arm through his and he says, "Regardless, we have set you on a path to decency, to make your life honest with your own approval."

"I approve…" I say distantly, still looking him up and down. "You know, I always wondered what might've happened to you if hadn't died. Were you really going to turn pirate? Because that would've been ultimate."

Norrington smiles begrudgingly as we go to head inside the ship. It disappears in the darkness, but I know it's there, even as the soggy wooden steps turn to stone and we step through a sunny arch. I take in another deep breath and survey the view from atop Fort Charles placidly.

"I may not have 'turned pirate-'"

"Well you should have!" I insist, jumping up beside the bell's arch. "Everyone else was doing it! I would've written that you did."

"And how might've that turned out?" I sense genuine curiosity in his attempt to simply humor me.

"You would've got across the rope with Elizabeth. Then at some point, she or someone else would ask you why or give you a look, and you'd say something like Governor Swann said to you here about how 'piracy itself can be the right course.' I always wished they would've revisited that line with you."

He smirks. I swing around the side of the arch and swipe his hat, planting it on my head. "And even if I don't ever get to write that and publish it for all fan fiction readers, I'll be publishing something someday. Maybe even writing screenplays!"

I swing around again, but the ocean and sun vanish and bring me face to face with Davy Jones. I let go of the barnacle encrusted pole and flex my hand awkwardly as I walk backwards, away from him and his approaching seamen.

"Writing screenplays?" he mocks, that pipe suspended loosely by one of his tentacles. "How do you intend to go from small town to big city?"

I stumble and fall back onto a chest. "You know, I don't think I've even _written_ anything with you in it."

"Perhaps you should reconsider, unless you fear death."

I give him a level look. "I told you already: you all played a part in making me realize how much I love to write. I've embraced my inner pirate! And it's helped me to write some awesome stuff for Creative Writing! And be a little less high strung."

"But you haven't written anything regarding pirates at all," Will says as he and Bootstrap Bill come to the forefront of the group. "All of your ideas contain not a single mention."

"An author can't put too much of herself in her characters," I justify. "It doesn't work like that."

"But you're supposed to write from your experiences!" Bootstrap argues. "Write about what you know!"

"Any you know us very well," Will says, "taken into account how much time you've spent with us, on us, for us…"

"Listen, that autobiography I started last year? I intend to write it!" I tell them, standing up from the uncomfortable chest (nothing like having coral and crustation-like things poking into your butt). "I've been really lax on that since I kind of have a social life now, but I write it on my calendar. You guys… you guys will probably make up a whole third of my book."

"And you're just such the gentlewoman."

I turn around at Beckett's voice, suddenly in his office where he's pouring two drinks. I roll my eyes.

"And what do you mean by that?"

He shrugs nonchalantly and hands me one of the tiny glasses. With a small 'cheers,' he downs his quickly. I'd rather not. I recently had an underage, and… Jack still isn't letting me live it down…

"Nope!" Jack himself says, popping up from behind Beckett and startling him. "I will not because for once, I was not an influence!"

"Psh, yes you were! I said 'give what you can' and Lindsay said 'take nothing back' when that night started!"

Jack shrinks behind Beckett's shoulder, recoiling his exuberant outburst. Beckett gives him a dangerous look over his shoulder.

"You interrupted my part of the story."

"You branded my arm."

"You didn't bring me back a ship of slaves!" Beckett said, voice rising as he turned to Jack. Jack looked flustered but eventually came up with:

"You sunk _Wenchy_!"

"Because you didn't fill her with _slaves!!!_"

I sigh with Elizabeth as she comes up beside me, arms folded over her chest boredly.

"Are they at it again?"

"That's another thing I would've written as a movie."

"What?"

"The whole back story those two have. It's so interesting and compelling. I know it; I just want to see it."

"So write it," Elizabeth encourages, leading me out of the office where Jack has just dumped all of Beckett's unlabeled liquor over his wig. We turn the corner, not surprisingly in another different place – this time Isla de Muerta.

I pick up one of the swords and sit Indian style on a rock scattered in gold coins, looking at my reflection in the still water.

"I'm not going to write that. There are many more qualified people, and Ted and Terry do such a great job complicating the hell out of the plots so that I'm delightfully confused. You know, it's just really cool that I can sit and write something and make it seem so true."

"It is true," Barbossa says, stomping through the water up to the cursed chest of Aztec gold, a piece of which hangs on my bedroom wall at home. "If you believe it true, it is."

"Not necessarily." I jump up and join him, taking a piece of gold from the chest. "Even if I don't believe this curse is real," – I stick my arm in the moonlight to show its undead form to Barbossa – "it's still real. Much like I don't believe I'll get far, but it doesn't matter, so long as I'm happy doing what I do."

He holds up a knife to which I take to my finger for a prick, smear some blood on the coin, and replace it in the chest with a flip.

"You're a fairytale yourself," he chides. "You think you'll always end up happy doing what you do?"

"I probably won't be happy with my lack of income, but I'll be having fun."

"But you live in your head," Pintel laughs with Ragetti as they clamber up the gold pile. "Alone from all those people you want to admire you."

"That's not ture," Ragetti says on my behalf. I smile.

"Thank you, Ragetti."

"She gets to live with all of us!"

Barbossa looks impatient. "If you say we're in her head, doesn't that defeat the purpose of explaining that we're real?"

"But you are," I say, sliding down the small mountain of gold. "You're a real influence. So many of these fan fiction writers that hope to be paid authors someday? They got to learn their mistakes and brush up on their writing while delving into this world with all of you, just as I have."

"You speak a lot more like a writer now," Jack says, sauntering into the cave with Will. "Better English, better punctuation, correct grammar…"

"Well, that's the basis of writing," I laugh. "You have to have a good knowledge and understanding of it, not just throw it around willy-nilly. Oh! Will, can I call you Willy-Nilly?"

"You already do."

"Yeah, but not to your face."

He sighs as I wander through the cavernous pathways littered with riches, pocketing a coin or two even though I know they won't be there later. "You know, I'm not even sure where this path is going to take me, literally and figuratively," I say as I continue walking. "I mean, my Creative Writing professor thinks I'm good enough to have a poem published in the school literary magazine, and I'm supposed to read my research paper at a conference next month, but how much promise is that?"

Suddenly, a door at my side flies open, slamming of the rock and making me jump. Captain Teague thumbs over his shoulder and says, "It's a start. Don't tell us after all your hard work you doubt yourself again."

"Well, there is never certainty in anything," I say as I enter the room of the Brethren Court. All of the pirates look at me expectantly as I walk up to the giant globe stabbed with an array of swords. Captain Teague hands me one. I look at my reflection, wondering what I will have completed by the time it has acquired many wrinkles and age spots.

"We are certain that we can help you as always," Teague says, "but you need to remember that – and us."

"How many times must I say it?" I chuckle to the sword. "Whether your influence is good or bad, there is no forgetting you." I look up at the Brethren Court thoughtfully. "I'm grateful you've helped me this much this far. I avoided a terrible mistake, and now, I'm doing something I've loved doing since fourth grade."

With that, I raise my sword and shove it into the globe. Smiles break out across the room.

"I'll be sticking with this. For a while, at least."

"You'll visit more often I hope?"

I turn around to Gibbs, now in the Faithful Bride in Tortuga. He hands me a drink amidst the wild atmosphere of drunkards, and I give him a sheepish look.

"Got anything else? I've sworn off the whole… drinking thing for bit."

"Here," Jack says, handing me a bottle of red Welch's Sparkling Grape Juice. He makes a face at Gibbs. "You are really insensitive sometimes."

"It was a celebratory drink! I forgot!"

I lower the bottle after a long drink, leaning against a pole. "Yeah, well, I guess you can save me from one mistake but still cause others." I clink my bottle of grape juice to their mugs, only to have some drunk stumble by and swipe it from me. I stare at my empty hand for a moment and then head for the exit with a smile.

Opening the doors, I find myself now in the small gold and ivory accented recital hall at my college that I've had every chorus concert in. All of the pirates are standing on the choir risers with music. I stop dead, my mood doing a violent 180. I stare at them, not sure what to say, as my class ring develops a significant weight on my right middle finger.

"What are you doing?" I finally ask.

"Isn't it obvious?" Mullroy asks from my left. Murtogg pipes up ext from my right, "They want you to sing!"

I shake my head. "I'm not a soloist. I- I don't want to-"

"Not as a soloist!" Beckett yells, turning around on the conductor's podium. He gives me a sardonic grin and motions to microphone beside him. "Take your place, hmm?"

I look between Murtogg, Mullroy, and the rest of the pirate choir with a heavy heart. I've sung in chorus since my rejection, but it's different somehow.

"I don't sing unless I'm with a choir-"

"Just bring her."

At Barbossa's lazy order from the top row of the risers, Murtogg and Mullroy each taken one of my arms and lead me down the aisle. I put up a half-hearted struggle despite being overly flustered. They plant me right before the microphone as the recital hall begins to fill with my friends, family, professors, and mentors.

I stare at Beckett, horrified.

"What the hell?!" I whisper urgently.

"Take up your folder, Miss."

"No! I'm not singing anymore solos _ever_, I write!" I say fervently, opening the folder on my stand just for the uniform of the group. "I'm happy writing, and I've said and thanked even _you_, and now you want me to tear open a wound and just sing my heart out like it's no bi-"

I stopped.

My eyes scanned the page before me, and I smiled ridiculously; to myself, to Beckett, to my pirate choir, and to my audience. Beckett raised an eyebrow at me and the baton, and I nodded eagerly. I had never done a reading before, but with a chorus from _Pirates, _it was sure to be all I could hope for.

A low, minor chord came from the depths of the pirates (and not-pirates), and I picked up my manuscript, reading it aloud for all those who deserved to know what I hadn't been able to express to them.

Although it hurts, I read. And I realize as I begin that I can always have coexisting dreams, especially if I write them that way.

"It's so funny how you can feel yourself grow up, become an adult, and loose all innocence in the wake of a few words printed on a sheet of paper…"

x x x

So maybe I didn't really get to tell them the whole story. I'm on my way to doing great things with words, and my iPod, CDs, and sheet music will come with me no matter what, instilling me with inspiration as they always have. A lot of people will never understand or care or know how I feel about my predicament, of finding fortune in my failure.

But the people who matter most know.

Jack makes a face on the poster I have of him hanging next to my top bunk. "_Ahem?_"

I laugh.

The pirates who matter most know, too.

**. Please Review .**


	3. This Is Fan Fiction

**So, for my Advanced Composition class this semester, I got to write three projects of my choice. my first project, written back in the beginning of October, was a memoir piece with bits of research mainly exploring my relationship with fan fiction, especially Pirates of the Caribbean. _Fan Fiction Ruined My Life_ and _Fan Fiction Saved My Life_ were vital to this, and I thought it would be nice to share this with you all to show you how I get top marks on papers as a nEnglish major. :) I hope you enjoy it and take something from it at the same time. This is my story - I could only wish it were fan fiction. PS - thanks to those of you who contributed to the paper by answering some questions for me! I cited you but took them out when I posted this. You know who you are!**

**x x x**

**This Isn't the Movies - This Is Fan Fiction**

I met Captain Jack Sparrow on Saturday, March 20, 2004. He was sauntering about my living room with a roguish smirk, a bottle of rum, and an enticing mystique accentuated by risk and reward. Sufficed to say that after the onset of intense, unexpected infatuation, he stayed in my room where I delved into his thrilling escapades repeatedly in lieu of doing Algebra homework. He was my new best friend. I didn't feel like a quiet, overweight fifteen-year-old with a nonexistent social life anymore. In fact, I couldn't be bothered with trying to fit in; I was too busy being a pirate now. Yes, Jack and I were inseparable for the next four days until we had to return him to Hollywood Video.

I was upset to say the least, but my mind was still alight with this fantastic new world I had been introduced to. I felt, to some inexplicable degree of reasoning, that I belonged there, that I mattered more than I was ever accustomed to being. I fell asleep that night thinking about how funny it would be if Jack Sparrow were mistaken as a substitute teacher for my Algebra class. Then I might have a shot at passing.

When a friend from camp reunited me with Jack after several months of separation, what my mom called a problem, I called creative inspiration, and everyone else called strange intensified tenfold; he was back, and he was my consultant for absolutely everything. Jack kept me sane despite my mild mannered passiveness being a stark contrast to his impulsive antics, and we complimented each other nicely. The voice of reason and the imp of the perverse – partners in crime reunited at last.

My notebooks were filling fast. I was writing down all kinds of bizarre, altruistic adventures starring myself and my muse, and they just kept coming. My mom got curious when I broke my routine of opening the Internet as soon as I got on the computer after school; now, I was pulling up Microsoft Word and typing immediately so that I could post new chapters online for others who enjoyed reading my exciting tales.

"Fan fiction? What's that?" Her face was twisted, and her tone was condescending, like I was doing something wrong. It pricked my nerves to have her view something so negatively that made me happy when she didn't even know what it was. I was too embarrassed to explain. Writing up stories about bringing a pirate to school? What was I thinking? She told me to do something normal kids do and to go clean my room before my dad got home.

'Normal'? My mom liked to try to enforce the adjective on life in our little family and social networks, but I didn't fit the bill. I could not contain my inner pirate (or, as my mom called it, teenage hormones), but I was still not keen on sharing my work. So, I was still going to hang out with Jack as much as I could, but he was going to have to lay low. My fan fiction was very personal anyway, like a journal on fantasy-induced steroids. It was my secret to keep, a tool that allowed me to steal away to an alternate reality that I could control and that I loved far more for that reason alone – I controlled it.

I told no one around me about my stories lest they thought I was horribly flawed like my mother's initial reaction indicated. No, the only people who appreciated the time I spent writing fan fiction were the online authors and readers like me from all around the world at , the largest online archive of fan fiction. They were all, for the most part, teenage girls who had written an array of their own stories about being part of the movies, Elizabeth ending up with Jack or Norrington instead of Will, or the characters in the present day living as roommates, playing Truth or Dare, or attending high school. The possibilities were endless, and I loved it. I had the power to change endings, have characters make different decisions that affected the plot, introduce an original character of my own into their universe – it was all up to me and the thousands of others who adored this _Pirates_ fandom so much that we elongated the happiness it brought us by continuing to write to every limitless corner of the realm our imaginations could conceive.

I had found an oasis. There was an overwhelming sense of relief in being exposed to this odd, secure community of people who obsessed over movies, books, and shows so much that they spent all of their time writing up unique accounts of them. One author, Anubhuti, known by her pen name Sentinal Sparow on , seemed to sum up exactly what I had been looking for:

[B]eing part of the writing community gives you […] a sense of belonging. Ever since I started reading and writing fan fiction and found out all the different terms that are used by writers, I felt like I was part of a secret world where I was free to be whoever I wanted to be, where I was accepted despite my dysfunctional obsession with unreality, where people understood it, even.

Yes, I was in the right place with these misfits and outcasts, as well as accepted by them. At first, I was leery of the idea of associating myself with these eccentric authors, but Jack wasn't going to let me pass up this 'opportune moment.' He put his hand over mine and guided the mouse to the 'Register' button where I chose a pen name, a password, and was officially documented as a member of the fan fiction community. While I knew it would be a rewarding experience to be a member of this community, I knew I had a lot to learn about what it meant to be a part of it.

My first fan fiction took me three months to complete, and it was about Jack, Will, and Elizabeth running around with me and my two best friends in the twenty-first century. At the time, I thought that if I loved it, everyone else would, too. Not so true in fan fiction community. At , authors are able to submit reviews to stories to provide feedback, praise, or criticism. A correlation was evident in comparing the number of reviews your story had to its popularity on the site. My first story of twenty-seven chapters had fifty-seven reviews, or approximately two reviews per chapter. I can see why now: the story was nothing but inside jokes, a plethora of exclamation points, and no plot until chapter nineteen. Not very impressive for a rookie, but as I improved over the years – writing eye-catching summaries and titles, hashing out plots beforehand, writing stuff people wanted to read – my stats were shooting up. My most recent _Pirates _story, though incomplete, has nineteen chapters and 232 reviews (twelve per chapter). Stories that I had written for other fandoms had even more reviews; one of my one-shots, a one-chapter story, had sixty.

While this was one of the most welcoming communities of which I had been a member, they had demanding expectations that, to a novice fan fiction author, were intimidating, scary, and downright soul-crushing. There were strict attitudes and opinions towards poor grammar and punctuation, senseless plots (or lack thereof), Mary Sues ('the perfect girl' or 'overly flawed girl' in a story that plays the romantic interest opposite the author's favorite male character), canon characters like Jack who acted out of character for no reason, and unoriginal storyline approaches. I had every single one of these slip-ups in my first story which led to horrible feedback. They were demanding of these expectations that I had been called out on numerous times. But before I got too down and out over their blunt overreactions to my menial mistakes, Jack made the brilliant suggestion that I get a beta reader.

Beta readers were huge assets in the fan fiction community and to me as an author. Their purpose was to proofread another author's chapters before it was posted on the site, help the author generate ideas to overcome holes in their plots ("plot holes"), and to guide the author's story in the best direction so that it would be well-received by readers. This was typically done by email; I would write up my chapter, send it to my beta, and she would send it back with blue text scattered throughout, indicating the corrections and changes that she suggested I make.

More often than not, this was not a one-sided exchange. My betas would send me their works to edit and proofread as well, and this facilitated some very close friendships between myself and other aspiring writers over the years. Our emails were not just about our latest story ideas or epiphanies but how this cute guy asked us to Homecoming or details of our plans to go visit our out-of-state grandparents for Thanksgiving. It was a unique social experience as well as a rewarding partnership where we could watch each other grow into better writers that had gained invaluable skills and memories from one another.

Today, while email is still predominantly used for communicating with beta readers, has set up a system called Document Exchange (or "DocX") where betas can send files directly over the site. Not sure which authors are good betas or how to choose one? The site has taken the guess work out for authors in need by having site members fill out a beta profile separate from their author profile. The author's beta profile includes information such as which fandoms and genres the beta reader is specialized in, their experience in beta-ing, weaknesses and strengths, and what languages they can read. Authors new to the fan fiction community today still email me about beta-ing their stories even though I do not have a beta profile listed. But, when I have time, I am more than happy to help and offer them the advice I was given and learned as a fan fiction writer.

Forums and communities are also a great way to facilitate a cohesive relationship amongst other authors on . In a forum, authors can challenge each other to write a certain kind of fan fiction story with a set of guidelines, run polls to get opinions on which stories they should write, and have general discussion about the specific fandom. Communities, started by individual authors, are lists of compiled stories from a fandom with a common theme or character focus. Other authors may subscribe to the community if they would like to receive updates on the stories in the miniature archive. My works are part of several communities today, and I was an officer for one that one of my beta readers had set up. It is a great means circulating stories on the site to increase readership.

Obviously, my route of social networking was different from those who interacted face to face with their best friends everyday in the halls between classes. I was at a computer returning emails and writing in the library when I could slip away during lunch, meeting new authors from around the world everyday in my reviews, beta emails, or when simply browsing for a good read. For some reason though, as the years passed, I still couldn't expect those around me to understand why I was so keen to spend so much time with Jack. On occasion, I would accidently leave my notebook or binder of writing in the living room when I was sidetracked, and my mother would find it.

"You're still writing this stuff? There is seriously something wrong with you, girl."

"Why?" I asked when the voices of people like my mom's snagged my pirate garb to reveal it only as an old button-up of my Dad's and a strip of red cloth tied around my head. I would look at my notebooks and stack of rainbow floppy disks containing my adolescence with disappointment for myself curdling sickeningly in my stomach_. There is so much good that comes from it, though_, I would reason weakly, silently. Their negativity would cloud around me like a dense fog of disapproval, and I often thought that each time this fog set in, I was not going to be able to find Jack. But he would find me again somehow every time, hand me a pencil, and wink.

Jack even found me in what I considered my bleakest moment in my history of writing fan fiction. Other than pirates, I loved music in high school and decided to enter college in hopes of becoming a music education major. I had to perfect and perform an audition first, though, and I knew I wasn't paying enough attention to it because I was still writing fan fiction and original works that would assault my brain until I extracted them with a pencil or keyboard. So, in retrospect, it was no surprise when I received the letter informing me that I did not get into the music education program. My heart leapt to my throat, pumping tears to my eyes at the news. Not surprisingly, the first thing I did to pacify my ragged emotions that night was write.

It was a monster of a rant. I essentially blamed my failure on _Pirates_ in the whole thing, reasoning that if I hadn't been so obsessed that I could've paid more attention to my audition pieces, had friends to eat dinner with, and not have been so awkward through junior high and high school. I concluded in this rant of mine that I was giving up fan fiction for good. And that's when Jack found me again; his voice appeared on the computer screen and argued with me, confused about why I had made such an outlandish decision. And he wasn't the only one – all of the other _Pirates_ characters probed me with the same questions and confusion, conveying that they were stung by the fact that I was no longer going to be spending my free time 'hanging out' with them.

Well, my mind had been made up. Life came first from now on. Yet, by the end of the rant, I compromised to 'still visit', but only after I was done doing important things in my life, like picking a new college major. When I had finished writing this long rant in one sitting, Jack had nudged me.

"What?" I asked moodily. "I don't want to talk to you."

He smirked, nodding to the computer screen knowingly. "You've contradicted yourself."

I narrowed my eyes at him suspiciously before scrolling to the top of the document to read what I had written.

Lo and behold, my rant about giving up fan fiction was indeed severely contradictory – it was a piece of fan fiction. Decidedly, it was the best I had written because of the pure emotion that drove its energy. I posted it to the website. My reviewers sympathized my situation as well as praised my writing.

That single piece of writing led to the revelation that was a saving grace for me: if it had not been for my extreme love of writing constantly about _Pirates_, I would not be an English major actively pursuing writing. I would have made the music department, having to deal with the overwhelming sense of disquiet, constantly feeling this agonizing void that only writing could fill. I even revisited the rant and wrote a second part. In it, I reconciled with the _Pirates_ and thanked them for all they had done, including helping me to avoid making that big mistake. Some pros and cons of the fan fiction trade were clear to me after writing these two pieces, and I found that other authors have similar feelings on the issue.

It is easy to see why I love fan fiction so much. Firstly, I spent five years continually striving to better my techniques, form, and style to become a better fan fiction writer which has helped me become a better writer overall. Sure, you could do that with original fiction, but I enjoyed critiquing my writing skills in the company of my closest friends. Fan fiction, as aforementioned, also gives writers a unique community to be a part of and to participate in, allowing them to get involved and make many new friends with whom they know they already have something in common. Several authors that I have talked to also love that sense of detachment from reality when they write as well as the entertainment it provides. It is convenient as well to know that everyone already knows the basics of the characters in your stories, the world they reside in, and the storyline from which you are deriving your own work. Every writer needs feedback from people who know what they are talking about; who better to know the characters than the adoring fans? With so many people having such a vast expanse of knowledge about the story before they ever read it, I sometimes find it easier to write fan fiction than original fiction.

There would be no pros without cons sadly, and the biggest con is simply that fan fiction is addictive. So addictive, you can end up not passing your audition if you're not careful. Due to copyright restrictions, fan fiction is hardly ever published, so no one gets paid for indulging in these fantasies obsessively. Readers might also press you incessantly for updates and demand perfection right off the bat, but take your time by getting to know the fandom you write for by reading others' works (no plagiarism!). There is also that looming cognition that fan fiction writing is completely strange and unacceptable by those around you that don't understand it, making you sometimes question if you should even write. Well, the answer is yes. You _should_ write until your little heart bursts open and you can no longer lift another finger to type. The pros definitely outweigh the cons.

When I finally came to this realization, I was able to resolve my rocky relationship with my consuming hobby. While used to be a tab on my browser as soon as I clicked the icon to open it, but I still visit it from time to time and even get an occasional random review on my stories. I swore to give up fan fiction once, but I can't help but to write the occasional one-shot or chapter for a story I've neglected for months on end. I feel its lack of presence in my life somewhat sad now, like my own handwritten coming-of-age tale. I have friends on Facebook that were my fan fiction friends – authors, readers, reviewers, people I beta-ed with. And my notebooks and binders are all tucked safely in the top of my closet at home where I can pull them down to leaf through if I feel the nostalgic need to do so every few months.

Fan fiction shaped who I am today. Jack and I are still inseparable despite our little tiffs, and I would not be who I am today without the peril, chance, and possibilities he instilled in my life on that Saturday, March 20, 2004. My psychology major of a roommate says he's either my subconscious or my alternate ego. Well, no matter what anyone says, Jack is real. To make such a profound impact on my life, he deserves to be real, and he is. I made him real. Subconscious, alter ego, muse, call him what you will; I suppose best friends, in a way, are those things when we need them to be. They look out for you as they push you beyond your limits to better things, handing you a sword and encouraging you to give the world hell. Most importantly, they will always stay with you, even if you don't write that they do.

**. Please Review .**


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